Project Hetalia  Sins of Our Brothers
by Da Mangaka
Summary: History is written by those who win, the rest washed away by the flow of time.But it doesn't mean it's less important for it can teach you far more than accomplishments.Meet a man who saw greatness and sorrows. Let him tell you about his dear brothers...
1. Preface

Preface

Hello there, welcome to this new literature adventure of mine. For those who haven't followed me up or are just catching up on me, my penname is Da Mangaka.

Before I begin with anything related to this word, I would like to thank you for giving me some of your time to read the story you're currently doing so. If you are anxious enough to begin and skip this long text containing some more details, thanks and disclaimers, go right ahead. For those who are patient to go through my first words, once again, thank you.

This work on itself has so many people to whom I am in debt, in one way or another, and perhaps it'll take most of this, so I'll leave it to the end.

Upon opening this possible e-book, link or file, you might have noticed the catchy title I have given to this rather lengthy work, and wondered what could I mean with such thing. After all, the Hetalia canon has been written and re-written so many times; it seems there is either no end or no need to just create another universe or interpretation of a work which actually is about interpreting history in a comical and satirical way. The sole interpretation from the original author and the fandom that followed has caused laughs, enjoyment and even some controversy. Some argue that the work is not to be taken seriously and just enjoyed for the quirks and stereotypes well known from each nation for a given time. Others are repulsive on such light take on history- particularly of that which took place between 1939 to 1945, the Second World War – calling foul the ways to sugar coat and ignore what bloodshed and dark times such where in reality. Some simply enjoy it for the shippings; ever ignoring that, while being a parody, the series revolves on real life nations whose story should at least be noticed before throwing on bindings which historically couldn't ever be, creating some others based focused on just a general scheme without ever digging further into the soul and heart that makes out a nation. Perhaps this is why so many "Hetalia haters" – my, what a redundancy will this be - hate the series: some see the fandom as just frivolous squeezing girls who just swoon over those who claim to be a country, without ever investigating or having the time to understand what it is really, ignoring whatever they don't like and just pushing and focusing on that which might well not even exist.

I must admit I form part of the people who cringe when I notice pairings and drama caused among these characters, with the sole cause of that: pure drama or plot. A superficial view on the stereotypes given by the series itself and some renowned ones, with an added of angst - to make the romance/plot better – and finally a happy ending pulled with a Deux-ex-machina.

One must also not forget the thousands of fan characters: because the series is so broad in telling us that almost anything can be a character (state, city . . . do not get me started on Micronations), some go into "creating" characters without even analyzing that, more than creating a character, a Hetalia character needs a thorough investigation of the city/state/country one is interpreting to make the 'image'. Therefore, they should be the easiest characters to make since it only takes a history book or Wikipedia to check on backgrounds, relationships and even current of thought.

Then again, that is not precisely the correct way, as Wikipedia nor any book or dictionary can describe what a Nation is. What the people in there are or think, feel and live. You must research far more than the national stats and even history itself. Remember, the winners write most of the time the story published on the books. Ever wondered about the losing side? What did they feel? The consequences of their acts?

Speaking of consequences, this novel is precisely about that.

The title itself - "Sins of Our Brothers" - denotes on itself actions wrongly committed, in an unforgivable way, a way which only a Higher order or law could relinquish or forgive. It's reflective and seeking for answers. It shows the human nature: we can all fail and make mistakes.

This is my take on Hetalia: Nationfolk, mysterious beings of varied and even more obscure origins which excel on anything humans could possibly achieve: they are stronger, faster, have better stamina, resistance, intelligence and a lengthy lifespan which blesses them with a youthful look and vitality. And yet, while these beings can be close to some sort of divine creature, they are still essentially humans. Humans empowered with the hearts and souls of the people who declare themselves proudly to be part of them. Their essences concentrated into one being whose purpose is to act as a medium to their will, though lately to the will of their so called 'bosses'. In all that, empowered humans who can still commit mistakes. They have hearts that feel and minds which can play any sort of tricks with them make them differ in thoughts with one another. They are the Nation and yet they are still their own selves. It's a mysterious bond indeed.

The Project Hetalia series, with its /Sidestories/ and smaller projects I might create, bring the idea of the Nationfolk to be not just the Nation personified, but somebody who is like you and I with a rather enormous responsibility on its shoulders. Blessing or curse, it's up to them to decide.

It does have another reason to be, the "Project Hetalia" name of the canon, but that will be revealed in due time.

For the creation of this work, as well the canon, I have taken at least 1 year to work and sketch out how everything connects, keeping a balance between the quirky and fun side of the 'main' Hetalia canon, with a more historical and perhaps darker side of history. If it happened, it will be shown as such, there will be no sugarcoating. A late warning for readers as well: this work is lengthy and as professional as I can try to make it out, which means no author notes at the beginning and no footers, unless necessary.

For 'Sins', I've taken the time to learn a bit of the languages that will pop-out on this book: at the beginning, you might see some bits of the olden language Prūsiskan, learn about the varieties of German, and finally some Russian.

By now, you might have gotten excited at the spoilers I've given you with the language. Yes, it involves Germany, Prussia and Russia. But I have added an extra character to this mix which is the one who will tell this tale. Mind you, he's not precisely the main character – perhaps he would not even let himself – but you will see through his eyes his life among these 3 great nations, read his thoughts and perhaps know a part of history that usually isn't told on the books.

There are, of course, creative liberties on the story – this is called fanfiction for a reason – but I'll try to stick to veridical sources as possible. If you would like to help me on this, I would add you to the thank you list just below.

And speaking of thanks, which I left for last for it is lengthy, I have so many in mind.

To begin with, I would like to thank my Editor, Aether, for the whole PH canon, whom I cling on as English is not my first language and I have some quirks. Please forgive my Spanglish that I throw you at times.

Thanks goes to Kahlan, who has roleplayed with me with a magnificent America and is making a /Sidestory/ of her own with him. I expect a great work from her side. Also, I'm clinging on her due her knowledge of German, which I have gotten quite a difficulty to learn, let alone pronounce.

On the topic of roleplaying: Project Hetalia would have never sprung out to life where not for this rather quirky forum I used to be, where events and plots went from interesting to chaotic. The whole chaos and my desire to make a linear plot that anybody could follow was the main reason why I began to draft this story in the first place. I remember certain members having difficulty with keeping up with the series of events that occurred – even if their character was the main plot or reason – which lead me to write them down in a notepad. Eventually, the forum collapsed and I moved on, but polished the pads into the writing and canon it is today. So it is a big deal of thanks for them.

A BIG thanks to – if they ever read this ever – MUSE for writing what I have assembled as the Fan Sountrack of this series. It's an easter egg for you readers to find out which songs they are.

Over all, thanks for reading this work.

-Da Mangaka

December 3 2011

**DISCLAIMER**

The Hetalia series belongs to Himaruya-san to which I also thank deeply for creating the series.

While based on Historical events, this is still a work of fiction and the author is not gaining any profit whatsoever. This is merely a hobby work and one that I enjoy really. It is free to share and to translate, so long as the author is given credit (As well as those behind it). If you translate this to _Prūsiskan_, I'll love you forever (so as will many people trying to revive the language).

Anything referred on this work (Songs, Poems, Writings, etc) belong also to their original authors and the authoress is not claiming them for herself. Again, I begin writing this text with 10dlls in my pocket and I'll probably have none by the time I end it. In other words, I'll be Forever Poor and jobless.

This is part of the **Project Hetalia** canon, and should not be compared with the Main Canon.

You're welcome to use this canon as your 'new' canon, add or take so long as you refer the original work.


	2. Etbaudīnsna

March 5, 1985.

A random date on the calendar which would go on to be unimportant or related throughout history. It would not be recorded in books nor told as a tale among others. It would just be another date in a place where the colours of the sky, the freshness of the air, and the will of thought were taken away, replaced by grey, burnt; by nothingness. It was the life of anybody inside the Soviet Union. Very few could see the benefits of a system which was very much broken and collapsed upon the thousands who tried to continue living or, in any case, survive. It meant nothing, the days or hours that passed, for everything had a prepared schedule: when to wake, when to work, when to eat, when to die. It didn't matter just how much you could force yourself to think otherwise, how to remember what lay beyond the Iron Curtain, where the sky was still blue, the air was still fresh and people could say whatever they pleased without a gun meeting up their forehead.

And yet, it was this privilege, hidden or taken away from him for so long, that he was now experiencing and wanted to know why. Why had he been freed from his own mind, having the feeling that time had been stolen, the sensation that everything he thought he lived was a lie.

A life inside a lie which began to collapse further, a lie which would probably kill them all eventually.

The hallways of the place they had all called home were as cold as ever, silent and passive, only interrupted by the sound of shuffling and struggle, as a tall blond man slammed a shorter, brown-haired one into the wall, head first, hand grasping his neck.

The one being suffocated, stared at the other - whom had become their protector and their executioner, their torment and their guide - surprised, with his green eyes pleading.

The man holding the other by the neck, with his icy purple eyes that had faint blots of red protruding even more with rage as if the colours were half-mixed glaring at his captive prey, tightened his hand enough to keep him barely breathing or in this case speak. His ghostly colored hair, as of dirty snow, hinting at a once vibrant color washed away by some sort of curse or fate, with no life of its own but just to be there, longer than what his military rank should let him have but not too fancy to be.

"Litva. . ." The cold and deep voice of the man came out in a menacing whisper, fixating his own stares on his prey. "Tell me. . ."

Tell him what? How long had it been? What was that place? Who had it there? Who was the man in the pictures and books he found in that abandoned fortress? Was it possible he had any relationship on fates before? How could such a person be related when they were so different, both in appearance and in attitude? And yet . . . there was so much he couldn't understand, like the fact that he could read diaries of old, written in a language that no longer existed.

It had been a very big fall.

"Listen to me Litva, and don't _lie_ to me." He highlighted 'lie' with a louder tone of voice, shaking his throat. "You dare to lie to me and I'll see Ivan have some fun with you: Ravis has been a useless chew toy lately and he's getting tired with him."

A long and deep fall, down a rabbit hole he had never expected to find, not in that place of all sites possible in the city he had under his wing to survey and even control. A city where he had every single detail checked out.

It was a random chance or perhaps an act of fate that he decided to visit such cold and hollowed place, let alone for his feet to stumble with a soft point, cracking underneath him with his weight, pulling him down to a dark and deafening fall.

How deep was it? Ten feet? Twenty? Maybe forty? It felt like he fell forever, images and scenery swirling around him, ghosts of a better season where the winter wasn't bitter and the sky had color.

All suddenly stopped by his body slamming onto the rocky ground, able to hear a loud 'crack' inside his skull. Something broke, he told himself before he passed out, and it allowed him upon waking up to think for himself. Peculiar.

It had been such a long fall. . .

The man he called "Litva" stared at him, trembling, trying to gasp out an answer but finding himself unable to. Such a change... he couldn't even begin to imagine _what_ had been done to make his Karaliaučius turn into... into this. If only Ivan had let him die... but that would have been merciful. They had all learned the past decades that mercy existed only rarely here. As rare as the firebird Ivan had (pretended to? it was so hard to tell with him when he got ideas in his head...) looked for when they were younger, before... before _this_ insanity.

But still the grip around his throat tightened, causing his vision to start to black out around the edges, making it even more impossible for him to answer. He couldn't even nod, or gurgle anything remotely answer-like out... so instead he placed his hands on his captor's, not trying to pry them off himself, but more gently, reassuring... _trying_ to reassure him that he wouldn't lie to him.

However, the purple-eyed man glared at Litva longer, the grip turning even harder as his prey's gentle hands reached his own, half of himself trying to shove away the feeling that began to caress his consciousness. His now awoken consciousness. One who had seemingly not existed for the past 40 years.

The soldier threw him to the other wall, releasing him from his grip, trying to see if he could feel something other than remorse for the man who slammed down hard onto the floor of the cold fortress that was their home.

As soon as he hit the wall and slid down, Litva curled up tight instinctively, knowing that the tighter he could curl, the less there was of him available to hurt. Even still, he tried to not flinch at the boot that nudged him... tried and failed... hands flying up to protect and massage his neck, trying to take some of the pain away.

". . . I have many questions to ask, Litva. "It was still a haunting voice. "I hope you have all the answers."

"Because, if you don't. . ." He cocked his head to a side.

Karalia-... no, Kaliningrad now... Kaliningrad seemed to have calmed down a little... so there was no immediate danger to uncurling... then sitting up, massaging his neck again. Litva stared up at the oblast, trying to gauge his emotion now. So difficult to do sometimes... "I-I... I will try to answer..." he said, hesitating. "I can't tell if I have all of the answers, though, because I'm not sure what your questions _ar_..."

...and then he froze, a small "why me" smile on his face. No, that wasn't the right thing to say, was it? Raivis' mouth had rubbed off on him...

Kaliningrad crouched at his level, ever keeping a stoic face and a cold look.

"I want you to tell me, if you can recognize this."

From inside his coat - and only God could perhaps know where he had it hidden - he pulled out an old leather-paste book, dusty, old and with slight hints of damage on the cover, the pages on the side yellowed. He threw it to his face, the thing opening and slamming on Lietuva's nose.

"..."

How could he not recognize it? The servant smiled sadly, flipping the pages carefully. He wouldn't even begin to know how to start with it.

"I... can recognize it," he said, quiet. He scanned the pages as he flipped through them, smiling as he caught some of the more upbeat phrases, even as the entries became more and more serious... no, they weren't happy times, when this diary was written, but the author's mood was unconquerable even then. So much different from now. "...do... do _you_ remember, Karaliaučius?" he continued, even quieter.

Kaliningrad's expression was unmoving, although his curiosity began to expand even more. He lifted a foot to press it against his victim's chest. "_What_ did you just call me?"

It was already something he was used to: To ask a question, kick or maim the victim, do something to it so it had no other option than to answer. And yet, his newly awakened consciousness banged inside his brain, telling him to stop and how wrong that was. But his will was still stronger, ignoring it for the while. "Answer."

"K-Karaliaučius." Litva smiled nervously, setting the book aside. If another beating was going to happen, it wouldn't be good for it to get blood on it. Poor, innocent book... poor, innocent Karaliaučius. "My name, for you... b-before..." Before the burning, before the killing, before the "experiment," before he became Kaliningrad. "My name for you... even though Gilbert... he said it wasn't as awesome as _his_ name for you."

Kaliningrad's mind told him to beat him up for mentioning that man. That filthy German idiot whose idea of greatness had driven him to the hell he was now. A fitting punishment for an idiot who dared to call himself a nation, who was greedy enough to drive his own people to-

'That was Wrust-Head's fault, you fool!' his consciousness screamed. Flashes and images came flooding into his mind, making him loose balance and fall on his buttocks, grunting and feeling lightheaded.

". . .G-Gilbert?" Kaliningrad asked, trying to clear out his mind. Gilbert Wieldemich, the human who represented the extinct nation of Prussia, the one who was blamed as the cause of all the madness of his world, his mind, and his job was to keep him at bay, along with his people. It wasn't infrequently that Kaliningrad had to punish him so brutally for trying to cross the Berlin Wall to visit his brother. After all, so many had died there too, tempting their fates, hoping for something better. But no, they were too stupid to attempt something like that. Nobody could cross such an imposing structure; he was an expert on building them as such, walls to shield, walls to separate. They were the same to him.

'Nobody can go in or out from my city without me knowing it, that's how good the forts around it are!'

". . . s-stop it. . ." he grabbed his head, an obnoxious proud laugh filling his thoughts, in a voice that was so familiar to him, and yet so alien. His own voice, in a cheery demeanor he had not been able to express in 4 decades. " . . . w-why? . . . Who?"

_Who_? Litva almost asked aloud, before changing his mind. No... Too much knowledge too fast would only harm him, wouldn't it? Instead he scooted over to Kalin's side, cautious still... ever cautious... before hugging the soldier carefully, pulling him so that his head rested on his own shoulder. Oh... he would probably be punished later, Litva knew that; neither of the Russian brothers _liked_ admitting that they needed comforting or care of any kind from anyone. But if he had learned _anything_ from the past deca-... no, _centuries_ of living in the Russian household, it was that a little comfort went a long way.

...for both his own brothers...

..._and_ Ivan...

...and now possibly Kalin...

So, for now he sat there, petting Kalin's hair as he did so often for Vanya, singing a lullaby to calm him and his mind (and, if Litva was completely honest, himself as well) down.

In the soldier's mind a distant and different lullaby came by.

The Sound of Clair de Lune, reminding him of Roderich.

Austria.

He hated Austria, but why?

Elizabetha, that bitch . . . his hatred for her was bigger. But why?

Prussia. . . Prussia. . .

Kaliningrad's mind went back to the lullaby sung by the other man, one he recognized as one sung to him as child. A very, very small child.

". . . L-Lietu. . ." his usually cold and demanding voice, emotionless, detached, began to break. Kaliningrad was surprised at his own change of tone, much more humane even, instead of a drone obeying, always obeying. His cheeks felt wet. ". . . L-Lietuva. . ."

His Liet, the one who was close to him when things went a bit astray. Even in those times.

". . . w-who . . . am I?" The question escaped his subconscious mind, introducing itself into his mouth, expelled in a quiet breath. ". . . w-who is the one in these books I can read somehow. . ."

It had been such a long fall, and he was just falling further more.


	3. Mein emmens ist Semba

_Augustus 19, 1435_

Kaīls!

I'm excited I must say. When my brother tossed a blank book at my face, I was annoyed! But when he told me what it was for, I began to grin stupidly.

I guess it's his way to welcome me to his family, as he should! After all, I did work for it.

I can finally retell my story for my own amusement, just like he does in the late nights after a long campaign. The sensation from having a book to do that in, like my brother, just makes me thrill with joy and utter excitement. I can't describe it really. I'm writing whatever first comes to my mind.

Though, if I _am_ going to write my life in these books he'll provide – though he teased me telling me that my German wasn't perfect enough to complete a page – I guess I must begin from the beginning.

Servus!

Mein emmens ist. . .

I don't think I got the grammar well, and I am pretty sure 'emmens' is still Prūsiskan. But my brother must forgive me: I have yet to master a perfect German writing. I can speak it all right, but I have difficulty still in writing it: I taught myself to read it, so I suppose it must work on the same basis to write it. I also am hoping there is some sort of ink that can be erased easily once you apply it. I could scratch it but it would look horrible.

Regardless, I will allow myself to continue.

I could start by writing where I came from but I sadly I cannot offer an answer to such question. It's not that I cannot answer it, but it's simply that I don't have an idea. It's one of the mysteries of life I suppose and most of the other people like me agree that the first years are foggy.

From some old tales my people passed on, I can indeed say I first appeared in the form a human cub would have and that I was completely defenseless and unaware.They took me and treated me kindly, the elders noticing something rather special about me. They didn't know what, but they are the elders for a reason.

Eventually, as I began to grow up, I began to talk in a language that none of them could ever understand. It was garbled and held some power to it, causing the people that surrounded me to be both terrified and awed.

My first memories start from this point, people staring at me like some sort of strange creature to bestow the biggest of honors. I was above the elders, with them having the job of taking care of me and giving me what nurturing I required. I was not like humans, which they soon noticed from my lack of aging and how I remained practically a toddler even after 50 years. I remember being very curious about my surroundings but above all, adventurous. This made the village I lived scramble many times, searching for where I could be. Now that I think of it, it's funny just how dozens of people would begin to migrate partially because a small two year old looking child would wonder in the woods.

Among the things I began to learn, either by teachings or simply because I could absorb it, was the language and culture, the rites and the stories that had been going around from way back before I could remember or even existed.

Indeed, the latest included me and they told me countless times in a cheery mood how I was to be their God-sent protector. Others told me that once I grew up; I would lead them to the Promised Land and ensure an endless time of joy and happiness. I was confounded by the tasks and designations they gave to me and I even became overwhelmed. After all, regardless of my centenary age, I was still pretty much a child deep down. I still am, though I'm not as young as before. Not to mention that I am much stronger now, but let us return to my past experiences.

To my fortune, I had many priestesses whose job was to be my surrogate mothers, pampering me, feeding me and taking me along in their arms. It was so comforting, especially in the cold winters we had to suffer time after time, I could spend months just sitting inside my own tent – where you needed approval from the chiefs to let you in – surrounded by many women and girls who would just do anything you wanted, give you all you wanted and love you endlessly. I felt as if I were the most blessed boy in the whole world. It didn't matter to me, even after two hundred years, that I had not aged at all. It didn't matter to me that I couldn't make decisions for the people I was to defend or guide or protect due to my tender image and figure, being not even tall enough to ride a horse. The Elders knew I was important but their biggest challenge was to protect me until I got enough strength. Perhaps that is why they gave me so many women to be comforted by: before the second century of my conscious life, I wanted to do grown-up things. After all, I had enough knowledge from the meetings the soldiers had over the nights, which I liked to peek over. They didn't want me to feel the need to stand up and battle, or to feel irked at not being able to do so. They were even puzzled as to why I hadn't grown a single bit, since I learned to talk on my own and write as well. They noticed how I was indeed much aware of the world like many other older men and children, and were even aware of a connection that made me sometimes go further away on my adventures.

Around my four hundredth year of consciousness, I began to feel some strange pull and need to walk further away from the current settlement, further up to the north where I could taste the sea breeze and see stones the same color of my hair. My hair color wasn't something common at the time of the settlement, and I felt rather happy about it, letting it take a brighter color with the sun, shining like a stone.

These stones were the same type of stone I saw in my dreams and even daydreams as I was cradled by my many surrogate mothers. All related to a place close to where the sea was, a place I needed to guide them to in order to grow bigger.

I told these visions to the Elders and they agreed without any question that they had to follow as well.

They packed their belongings and began their journey up north to the site I described, not knowing really what to expect but ever believing that it was their duty to do so. As we drew closer, not only did I see and taste the salty air but I began to feel a sensation of not being the only centenary child in this vast and uncharted world. My soul echoed with somebody else's. I wasn't alone. It made my heart flutter. I wanted to arrive as fast as I could and meet that person. A person that didn't change over the endless flow of time, regardless the passing of seasons, the cycle of life and death of animals, plants and the people that gave me that spark which I knew somehow made my own.

I wanted to see just how much we were alike, what that person could teach me, and if we experienced the same things through all the process that was immortality.

I wanted to learn so much from somebody like me.

I knew I had eternity, so we could teach each other as long as we wanted.

Perhaps even give each other comfort, for no matter how many surrogate caretakers I had, nothing could exchange the feeling of having somebody by my side for as long as I lasted.

It was a funny feeling. It still is.

I suppose it's that innate human need of bonding. The need to belong to something or someone.

We are alive, after all, so we behave like anything that's alive.

I could go to befriend and love many people, but I couldn't exactly bond with them. Not in the way I needed or wanted.

Deep down, I felt lonely and that sudden spark or connection to that other one whom I felt was the same as me, it was so thrilling, so exhilarating.

About some year or two of the beginning of our journey, the Elders and my people noticed a drastic change in my mood, from thoughtful to rather cheery, and asked me just what made me so jumpy at times, especially at that one time around the Winter Solstice. I remember grinning at them and laughing.

"Buttan! I'm home!" I announced proudly on that day, sitting down, my hands touching the downy snow.

And so, we stayed. But the truth was that I could feel within the range of that other person.

I wanted to see him. I was very anxious to do so indeed.

My people were cautious regarding my overflowing emotions and recommended that I wait until the sun became warmer, the days longer and the grass reappeared once more.

I remember my amazement once the snow began to melt, showing the marvelous land I have decided to name my home: close to us, a long crystalline river that arrived at the sea, long grass and spots perfect for the animals to roam around. What most impressed me, after I followed the flowing river, was the vast sea just close by. It was immense in my eyes, a beautiful reflection of the sky just for us to touch; though it was still _very_ cold and I remember yelping away.

I stumbled on the shore where I could find the stones that I saw in my dreams, glimmering under the warm spring sun, just like my hair would do. I shook my hair, letting it fly with the cool sea breeze.

The stones I brought to the village, where given the name of _glīsis_, and I got the nickname of _skebelāi glīšai_ - bernstein haar in German. The villagers could not find any better place to have been guided to and I was thanked in the following summer festivities, holding on my name high. 

Here, my people began to grow and multiply. The land was fertile and gave them a chance to propagate even further, regardless the sacrifices we had to submit to our Gods, human or animal.

I even began to feel a change on my own body, growing little tidbits that where not clearly visible, but I felt them well enough to feel proud of them.

The more I felt bigger, or perhaps stronger, the more I felt bolder to go away from the areas I was used to. That's when I first began to see signals of others like myself, and I was very happy to simply go and hug them.

I remember their startled faces, many pushing me away, and some others embracing me tighter. I think one of them – Warmia – was rather huggy and I preferred to go away.

The distances among each other, soon I came to realize, were relatively close. I just couldn't believe it.

Many laughed when I told them, and they simply shook their heads, telling me that I was just too young to have awakened my "Lando Sento".

"Lando Sento?" I asked one of them, who I can't remember at the moment.

"You don't know?" he chuckled. I was a bit jealous of him because he looked much older. Around twelve or fifteen. I still am jealous, actually. I wonder what I would look like at that 'age'. "It's the Nation-sense. It's that feeling only we have that allows us to detect each other out."

"Pa-median got it first and was who began to poke at us," the girl called Skālwa, who looked around 8 years old, giggled. She had luscious blond hair. "Actually, why didn't he come to the meeting?"

"He's busy fending some . . . uh," a robust bloke, a bit younger than the guy whose name I cannot recall, chimed in. He didn't seem too bright. "Invaders, I think he said."

"Not again," Another girl, Sasin, pouted. She crossed her skinny legs and arms, blowing up a chunk of her brown hair. "Are they really _that_ resilient?"

I asked who they were talking about 3 times, before I screamed at them exasperated. Just because I was the youngest looking didn't mean I was to be ignored.

"Oi! Don't scream!" The one called Galindo scolded me. For being a boy, he sure sounded all sassy. I remember rolling my eyes away, annoyed. "Haven't your people thought you any manners?"

"He must be descendant from Skandināwija. . ." Skālwa giggled again.

"Skandināwija? Ni!" Sasin scoffed "As far as I know, Skandināwija has strong children. This one is a twerp who hasn't grown.)"

"But he didn't develop the Lando Sento until now!" Surprisingly, a boy who had been rather distant from me, Nadrauen, stepped up to defend me. He was second youngest. "And most of us did it thanks to having a Saĝa Gvidilo nearby."

"Huh? Really?" the bulky boy tilted his head, confused "What's yours?"

"There's this boy controlled by the far south." Nadrauen replied "And there is another one on the north, really shy. I haven't gotten to talk to him. But when I saw him, my Lando Sento sprang up."

"W-wait!" I interrupted " Boy? Up north?"

He nodded at me. I just had so many questions.

"Yeah! Just up where you are actually! He was who thought me a lot of things, before Barten here found me and told me about you. I was actually surprised that others existed."

"Is it true that the little boy in the south is cute?" Skālwa leaned over to him, a wide smile on her face.

"W-well, I'm not sure really. I just know he exists, down from here, far away." Nadrauen signaled with his left arm, waiving his hand.

"I don't think you're ready to meet any of the Saĝa Gvidilo, um. . ." The nameless one, that for the sake of this story I will call 'the Leader', stared at me puzzled, holding his thumb close to his chin. "What is your name again?"

"My name is Semba!" I exclaimed, partially irked at this older child.

"Ja, Semba." His voice didn't seem too impressed. "I think you're still too young and small to meet one of the Saĝa Gvidilo."

The Saĝa Gvidilo, is a fancy name for what we now call 'Nations', regions with a wider power and influence, of more than hundred thousand people. A place whose king or ruler was so potent that could go on forward and conquer other lands. I didn't like the whole 'Wise Guide' name, but it was more out of respect to those who had reached a status before us, growing hunks of land with autonomy and consciousness.

I stared at him defiant. I wasn't going to give up just due my appearance.

"I can meet one if I want!" I told him angry, puffing my cheeks and chest. "In fact, I _will_ meet one! I'll prove to you I am just as strong!"

"Semba. . ." Nadrauen tried to calm me down, pulling me from the arm, though I shook it away.  
>"So stubborn, definitively not from Skandināwija." Sasin looked away in disgust.<p>

"Semba, I admire your determination." The 'Leader' tried to put some 'sense' into me. "But if you meet a Saĝa Gvidilo before time, before you are strong enough to even put up a fight. . ."

"I _can_ put up a fight!" I barked at him. I felt my cheeks turning red. "Just because I look like this, it doesn't mean that I can't!"

"Semba, please." Warmia looked at me teary. Her chubby cheeks had tears rolling down. She made me pause a bit, but I was willing to become harsh even with the only one who seemed to like me that much. "I don't want you to di-"

"Warmia." The Leader glared at her, making her gasp. Whatever they wanted to tell me, I didn't listen either way.

"You'll see! I'll find that Saĝa Gvidilo, I will confront him and I will make him mine! I _will_ even become a Saĝa Gvidilo!"

"Really? You can't be serious!"

"Shut up Sasin!" I growled at her, making Skālwa next to her flinch back.

I glared at everyone that rounded that fire, with the moon as witness, and left them.

Some began to tell me to get back and wait for the morning, but that would be bending my will, and I couldn't afford to do that right now.

That's one of the first lessons I learnt as a _Lando Persono_: to be fierce amongst your comrades and defend your point of view. And I still looked like a cute three year old.

After that meeting, my need to prove myself began to drill my chest. Now I needed to explore not just to explore, but for a defined purpose. The purpose in mind was to find any 'Wise Guide' and confront them. After all, they couldn't be that different from us, right? I needed more information about them, and my mind was nibbled into just how fierce or powerful looking they were portrayed.

If we were all nothing more than a bunch of children, with small kingdoms and communities, then these guides should be older and rule over bigger places that should be easy to find.

By the time, we had enough maps to distinguish the rulers close by to us and I found out just what they meant by the children of Skandināwija: Nōrwigai, Sōmija and Šwēds. Skandināwija was a region that contained those three, though many others argued and were sure that _she_ used to be one of the biggest Saĝa Gvidilo close by.

Warmia, who was also my most chatty neighbor, told me how people from these places helped us populate even further, so in some way, we were related.

I never understood the relation or how that worked, I didn't want to fuzz my mind about it, but regardless, Skandināwija was too far to go securely. To be honest, to this day, it still frightens me the idea of using a ship to travel.

I decided to go traveling by land, after all, I could surprise whatever person I found and I could blend in easily. Only the other Lando Persono could detect me for sure and know what I truly was. But in order to 'escape' the watchful eyes of the current ruler, I blended with a caravan that headed up north.

I followed Nadrauen's hints in that regard, since the 'Cute boy from far south' that Skālwa referred to was in a vague direction. I didn't have time for vague references.

Was I scared? I didn't want to admit it, but yes.

After all, I was getting away from the people who were somehow my energy source. I knew that somehow, they made me. Part of what I was came from them, and getting away like this, sneaking like a thief, was something wrong in the end.

But I just couldn't stop my desire to learn more.

I looked up to the sky and asked for a divine veil to protect me. To protect me from any sort of evils that I could encounter.

I went on to begin my journey.


	4. Lietuva

_Augustus 23, 1435_

I fell asleep on the last entry.

I could have written something the next day, but there are rumors of the Confederation planning to attack my city, so I had to prep some things.

Nothing too fancy: some 5 barricades, 10 canons and enough men with crossbows would do the trick.

This has to be one of my biggest challenges yet, for they might attack directly into my place, and if it were to be captured. . .

I don't think I could see the face of my Brother anymore; I wouldn't have the guts to tell him the bad news or the details of those I used to call siblings. Honestly, I'm not sure where to stand and I have a lot to go through before I decide either if I'm strong enough or should just continue with my current plans.

That's not important, however, and I have to explain a bit more about my past, don't I?

After all, it involves a special friend who left a mark on my life and I am thankful for it.

Although we are on opposite sides now, with him latching onto that girly bastard or perhaps it being the other way around, I still have a great sense of respect for him and even yearning. Perhaps one day, we'll live in the same territory together; I'll make sure he is treated well.

Regardless, allow me to continue with my story of the past.

I slept on my way to the North, where this mythical and even legendary Saĝa Gvidilo lived. I can't recall the surroundings that well, nor what the people from that cart poked me with when they discovered a child sleeping inside where they carried hay. I'm not sure even if it was hay, only that it prickled my nose and made me sneeze.

I had to run away from them with them shouting things at me in a language I couldn't understand. It wasn't _Lando Parolas _nor Prūsiskan but very similar. That and all I wanted to do was to flee before they had a chance to wonder just what I was doing there.

The thing was, I didn't know where to go: It was a vastly different sight from what I've ever encountered, perhaps bigger than I have seen before. People and cattle moved everywhere and life there seemed much more busy. I detained myself to watch over the people, many too busy to note myself, and ponder on what made such places so different to mine. What could I expect from this place's Saĝa Gvidilo? How tall would he be? Would he be strong? Demand some tribute?

I had brought nothing from my place, and that began to worry me. Though as the evening fell that day, I had realized I had come completely unprepared for the trip and I should probably try to get back home.

Though the surprising rain of the night made things less easy for me to decide, and more to curse on whatever god was mocking my curiosity.

I had dreams - or maybe nightmares? - about being eaten by a large dark figure, angry for not being good enough to 'dare' to try to meet him. I begged and whined but it was useless against such a large figure, who devoured me in a single munch.

I remember waking the next day and crying loudly at my disgrace. I wanted to go home but there was nobody from my kind close by.

I began to walk around the busy city, tears rolling down my dirty cheeks, trying to find a way to head home, but the people who encountered me had no ways to communicate with me. All I could manage to understand from them where their sad apologetic faces, wondering perhaps if I was an abandoned orphan or simply another lost child among their own.

One of the women – the many that came close to me, perhaps their instinctive motherly sense to protect their young – petted my head and held me in her arms tenderly. I looked at her thankfully while she cooed to calm me down.

"Kwāi ēima buttan! Kwāi ēima buttan!" I cried and cried and the poor young miss couldn't understand a word I managed to say. Or perhaps she did, because she began to rock me, while looking around for somebody. I didn't know who, all I knew was that I needed to get back to my people.

I was such a cry baby. Over the years in this new rulership, I have become strong though. There isn't much of a choice now, not with what's going on.

. . . I shouldn't let my thoughts of the moment sway me from my story, huh?

Well, let's continue.

Lost and scared, crying in a language people could barely understand at full. For the first time in many years I felt so vulnerable and my whole being begged to return.

And that's when I met him.

It was an act of fate, I still continue to say; after all, his capital city is far away from this one I encountered him, although it was big enough to matter.

The first thing I saw, and what you can always see from him to be honest, was his worried green eyes. He looked so surprised but overall, so hurried in trying to make things all right for me. He was not older than the woman who carried me, but much older than what I looked like, around the age of eight or ten.

He took me in his arms and he began to whisper at me things, trying to calm me down, cooing and rocking me while I continued to cry and beg to return home.

He seemingly asked what or who I was to the girl who carried me, but by the look of his face, the answer wasn't enough and it just brought more worry. He patted my head and began to carry me towards what seemed to be the place he lived in.  
>On the way there, I cannot remember clearly what happened, only that he hummed a very calm song.<p>

My own fears and desperate desires to leave to home began to dissipate as I found an aura of trust and love emanating from such boy. Who was he? My mind began to ponder, though it was slowly defeated by my own human needs: I had not eaten nor drank anything since the beginning of my journey. I had exhausted my energy.

There are things we can do; after all we aren't exactly human. We can do more than them, but in the end, we continue to be like them. It's weird now that I think of it.

I woke in a nice warm bed, fluffy pillows, and drapes around me.

It was a peachy colored drape which I tugged away to observe whatever area that now surrounded me.

Very fancy, but cozy. I suppose it was a guest room inside somebody's house or cove. I couldn't tell or didn't care because the next thing I wanted was to eat.

I'm very straightforward: I want to eat, I go get food. I want to go into an adventure, I go into an adventure.

Though when I got lost, I felt once more the feeling of abandonment and despair. Inevitably, I began to cry again.

That helped the boy, who held a plate of food, to find me faster. He almost dropped it to try to reach out to me, like a mother finding her lost child.

He set it aside, carefully to not spill anything, and went to cradle me in his arms, humming to me once more. Considering it worked the first time, I guess it was a wise decision.

The surprise came, though, 2 days later after I found him (or wasn't it backwards?) when he tried to find out where I came from. His language didn't help, and he seemed to understand mine to an extent but not enough to make a conversation out of it.

He stared at me intently, his green eyes with my blue ones, as if trying to make a connection. Perhaps he did it, because I felt something calling out from my chest. The feeling of calm and protecting he had given me earlier, as he fed me and tended me, it helped the link grow stronger. I was truly surprised at just how similar it felt and I felt stupid at not realizing it quickly.

The doubts I had in my head, whether this boy or not what I was looking for, vanished when he asked me a simple question.

"Kiuj estas vi?"

I stared at him idly, my lips letting a gasp escape.

Noticing my mood change, he began to smile wider.

Who was I? I told him who I was and the reason for my travels. Of how I had entered a shepherd's carriage and traveled to unknown lands for myself. I kept talking and talking, partly relieved to find somebody I could talk to and partly to try to know just how much this boy could tell me, without realizing that perhaps doing so wasn't the best idea ever.

Then again, how could I forget his kindness and generosity? There was some way I had to repay him.

The boy, who I didn't give the chance to address himself or talk, stared at me with curiosity and was rather impressed at just how I had gathered the courage to travel all the way to his place. In the slightest of chances to talk back, he asked me just _what_ I was looking for.

"I'm looking for a Saĝa Gvidilo!" I told him proudly, puffing out my chest. "I heard there's one around here and I am going to meet him! I don't have a tribute right now, but I'm sure he'll understand."

"Do they still use that archaic term?" He giggled; nervousness crept on his reply as he rubbed his head. "W-Well, if you're looking for one, I think you found it."

"Huh? Really?" My eyes and mouth opened in utter surprise. "Woah! Where is he? Have I've seen it? I must have been crying so much." I gritted my teeth, angry. "Damn it! If only I were stronger. . ."

He began to chuckle, amused by my reaction.

"No, no. You misunderstand." He continued to chuckle. "There's a reason that name is archaic: _everyone_ can become a Saĝa Gvidilo. You just need to grow bigger." The boy poked my chest, smiling gently. "Once you've grown, your veil over other people grows as well. It's no big deal, really. It's taken me a while as well."

That revelation was kind of confusing, even for my centenarian mind. I understood I had a veil or coverage over my particular people. But the whole search of the Saĝa Gvidilo, the Wise Guide, the one who had such an extension of land that could conquer others, now seemed to take another direction. Had I been wrong then? Have _they_ been wrong?

I pouted, my lips twisting to a side and now showing him my frustration. He began to shower me with worried looks which only helped me to get even more infuriated with myself.

"I've taken all this for nothing then!" I finally exclaimed, making the boy jump on his place. "I was looking for that who could teach me more about being stronger! I want to make that veil bigger, enough to engulf those I have called my brothers! I want to be stronger! I want to! I want to! I need somebody to teach me how!"

"B-But. . .but why?" The boy's eyes blinked in surprised and stared at me, both nervous and with that endless worry he _still_ carries in these days. "Y-You don't need to . . . why do you want to do that?"

"Because!" my pout grew.

"T-that's not exactly the best reason I've heard."

He jumped off the bed we were talking on – the one I had been tucked on the past days, the drape taken off the surroundings – and stared me now with that look mothers get when they lecture their children. Obviously, by his looks, he _was_ older than me, but he didn't need to act much more motherly than he had been doing for the past days or so. That just infuriated me even further, pursing my lips and biting the lower half.

"Listen, if you want to take that chance, you will suffer a lot." He crossed his arms, voice ringing with both a scolding and a warning. "Don't you understand? You will need to overpower others and you might even lose what you hold. Is it really worth it to do so?" His look turned sad. "Our reason for existing is to protect those we have come to love, after all. I know that it also depends on what our leader tells us to do, but above all, we are to help our people to survive and be happy. Isn't that why God sent us to them in the first place?"

"I-I don't really know. . ." I shied down, trying to hide my head between my shoulders, looking away. "I guess that's what we are meant to do in the end, right?"

"That I cannot answer." He replied calmly "But if we don't need to, then there isn't such need. All I know is that I see for my people."

We stared at each other for some time, as if we were trying to analyze each other's souls. To see what we held within and keep the connection. He was younger than I expected, but nonetheless, he was the Saĝa Gvidilo I was looking for. Now I understood the name. It was Lando-persono much older than many of the ones around us, whose level of influence was much bigger than us smaller ones. They didn't need to be really part of the area to make us understand just how important they were. In the end, he was indeed wiser. He could teach us things.

I smiled, which made him look at me, curious.

"I like you." I grinned. "What's your name?"

"L-Lietuva. . ." he stuttered a bit. "I'm sorry, I forgot yours. Can you tell me?"

"I'm Semba." I offered my hand at him. "It's nice to meet you."

"N-Nice to meet you too, Semba." It took him some time to reach to me, but when he shook my hand, we began to laugh, relieved. "Tell me something: that language of yours. . ."

"What about it?" I tilted my head.

"It sounds a bit like mine, what do you call it?"

"Ah! That's Prūsiskan!" I wanted to sound proud, but I think I sounded like a fool. He chuckled.

"I see. Perhaps because our people are neighbors. My home language is called Lietuvių."

"Oh! I see!" Lietuva had come to sit close to me, very interested in knowing further, which was good because I had lots of questions for him. "Do you think you can teach me? That way we can talk better and people won't stare at us funny."

"I guess we can do that, though I would really like to learn that language of yours too"

"It'll be a trade then!" I began to give little jumps on the bed, bouncing. Lietuva was quite amused at this and giggled. "I'll teach you Prūsiskan and you teach me . . . whatever your language is called. . ."

"Lietuvių," he corrected "It's not that hard to pronounce, is it?"

"Not much at all, but my home language is better!"

That day, he gave me a sack of supplies for me to head back home, telling me to give regards to my ruler. This time I traveled with a bit more of class, instead of hidden like a thief. My ruler scolded me for being lost for 4 days, but I didn't care, I had found what I was looking for. I remember grinning stupidly for days afterwards.

Soon, we began to meet each other at least every last week of the month, it became a custom. Eventually, the attachment grew into something bigger, enough for me to consider him my big brother, my wūrija brāti. Or vyresnis broils, I think it's said. That is if I haven't forgotten my lessons that much.

Speaking of lessons, I have to cut off this entry: Things are getting frisky and my bruder might need support. If only Warmia would decide if she's on our side.

Ērdiw!


	5. Pettalkas be wītra

_Augustus 25, 1435_

I don't understand. I simply can't.

You can't go decades, even centuries, declaring yourself in one side and suddenly changing to another.

That is unless you are a territory or city or Nation. That simply just can't be.

Then again with how the war is going, I won't agree that some would pick stronger sides to survive. Survival is key in protecting our people, and that's something I learnt a long time ago, in a slightly painful way.

Mind you, one might probably wonder where my brother is stuck in the story I'm telling and how we got to meet each other.

So far, it hints that Lietuva and I should be fighting on the same side, bonded by closeness of territory and the culture among our own people.

But that couldn't be further from the truth, and sadly, I must admit I am disappointed myself. Fates had it for me to be on the _other_ side of the field, defending my brother from that idiot blond of Feliks.

God, I hate him. I hate everything of that man, his strange cockiness and the fact that I swore that he was a girl, where not for the voice and . . . equipment. I will not go in details how I found out, but when I did, I washed my eyes with holy water and remained inside the cathedral for a week, each day praying 10 Ave Maria and 20 Pater Noster. Even our bishop considered my self-punishment a bit exaggerated, and Gilbert further humiliated me by laughing in front of our men.

I swear, I will never . . .

Regardless, as I was saying, fate has placed me on the other side of the field but I suppose it's also in part Lietuva's fault. It makes me wonder, though, had he not done what he did that day, would I be standing in this place, writing my own humiliations and frustrations?

I would probably be ash ridden and a faint memory. I would just. . .

I can't imagine it myself. After all, even though they promise you Heaven and Paradise, there is no certain way to tell if there is such thing, at least for us. Us who continue to live eons, while those around us become wiltered and fade away on their own account.

I suppose I should self-flagellate for doubting the existence of Paradise and Hell, but dealing with my dear siblings is enough.

At least, if they or I even bother to call them like that: you see, since I got in this position of power, it has become a bit difficult to relate to them anymore. And not because of the language - after all, I'm still writing in Prūsiskan – or even the culture. I don't know, perhaps I _am_ indeed focusing on Gilbert too much. But what can I say, he's _Geil_.

Anyways, going back into topic: one of the Nation's (or Lando-Persono's) main concern is to survive. There are so many threats out there that it frightens me even to think what would happen if I didn't have Gilbert running around, either laughing as he rides off towards the horizon or punishing me for falling asleep in Mass. I like it, but I can't stop getting sleepy at just how soothing it sounds when they begin to pray. It fills your soul somehow, embraces it and lulls you to sleep. Gilbert says it's bollocks and I should be more attentive, all while slapping my head and making me carry him on my back, while he is wearing his armor.

You might think that because we are pretty much eternal – counting for myself at least four hundred years. Six hundred maybe? – we should forget about it and just position ourselves to protect our people, and you're right indeed for I guess that's what we are here for. Aside from that, though, we must protect ourselves. Lietuva explained me this a little bit, in a way I can relate to and even find easy to understand :

"We are like a crystal box with many fireflies." He brought to me said crystal box; it had some metallic hinges which made it look rather special. I suppose either he or a really nice craftsman did. He opened the box, trying to get some of the fireflies around us. I laughed when he failed to get some and when he did, he was ever careful not to squish them on purpose. Lietuva was always the kind of person who was too worried about anybody getting hurt. I admire that part of him, so kind. "The box is a box and the firefly is just a firefly. Now, imagine the box is the territory we live in and each firefly is our people"

He then put the firefly inside the box. Some of the others he had caught where zooming inside, trying to move or escape. He hushed at them, almost pleading directly at them to stay put.

"When we put the two together," he stared at the box with his gentle green eyes, small smile on his lips. I think I remember seeing him blush. "Something new happens, even if it seems it doesn't. The box is still a box and the fireflies are still fireflies. But, when the fireflies glow, we can call this box a lantern: it gives out light. We are the lantern."

"We. . ." I stared at him a bit confused, pouty even. "Are a box with a bunch of fireflies in it?" I didn't seem to like the concept, with all the yucky insects in it.

Lietuva chuckled, standing up, raising the box over my head so I could see what was to happen: nightfall was quickly arriving.

As if on cue, perhaps due to their nature, the fireflies inside the box slowly began to light. Would there be only one and under the dawn, the spectacle would have been ridiculous and even pointless; but here, under the now starry night, with a bunch of those flaring creatures, the glass box soon turned into a marvelous and even magical lantern, just like he had explained. It wasn't a replacement for a torch, of course, but it gave a mesmerizing and warm light. I couldn't avoid smiling.

"The light is our spirit, and the box is our body," he continued. "Our cores are made by the thousands of people who have lived upon our lands, or still do. They beckon to us; they form out what we are. Our body, meanwhile, mirrors the state of our land. We are a projection of both these elements together: we are a lantern."

And I kept on looking at that magical box that held the crawling insects. The crackling of the fire next to us seemed to raise its warmth.

"As long as the fireflies and the box are ok, the lantern will continue to give its light. That is why it can continue to exist. Even if the fireflies die, if they continue to be and give birth, they can continue to give us their strength, give us their light."

He opened the box. Some of the insects rushed away.

"Some of them, though, might go away. But some might come back. That is fine too."  
>"What happens if the box breaks?" I asked. It was, after all, made out of crystal).<p>

"Well," he stared at me with a smile, though he seemed sad. "if the fireflies are all right and you can make another box, everything is fine too. It might be difficult, though, to make a new box or even fix the one you broke, but as long as the fireflies living in there are fine, then it can go back to be the lantern it used to be."

He gave a deep sigh, his sight saddening.

"However, if the fireflies die, the box is shattered, the light cannot be restored. You might think that if you bring another box and more fireflies it might work, but. . ."

Lietuva's eyes turned worried, grief filled them.

He shook his head softly.

"That is why we must protect them, both the box and the fireflies. Our territory and our people."

"But, then. . ." There was something that didn't feel right about it. Did that mean that we were just nothing more than a conjunction of two elements? We didn't have lives of our own? "We don't own our souls? We aren't really alive? Who are we? Are we all them or . . .?"

Lietuva ruffled my hair softly, sitting down and setting the box on my lap. I touched the cool glass with my fingers, poking at the insects inside.

"I cannot explain that really." He looked at the fire. "I haven't found something to do so. We are indeed a conjunction of people and land, but we also have our own heart and soul. We are all of them, and yet, we are ourselves. We can connect to their souls and maybe their minds, but we are not them. We are just . . . us. Lando-Persono."

Land People – Lando Persono. Such a fitting name.

"Do we have souls of our own?" I asked again, staring at him with my blue eyes.

"We have our cores." He poked the firefly lantern. "Those who give us our strength. It's not only made out of the fireflies – the people – but also, all that they brought with them: thoughts, feelings and learnings. Culture even. All that was and will be perhaps. All that connected us with a much more ancient and powerful energy which none of the ones I've met can understand, but know it exists. It's what connects us and communicates with us. "

"Lando Sento!" I said proudly, already understanding some of the terms.

"Yes." He congratulated me with another rub on my head. "Lando Sento. The 'Feeling' of the Land, the connection between our cores. Still, even with all that, we still have our own feelings, memories and even life. I guess that's what forms our own soul."

He opened the box at last, finishing his lesson on that.

The fireflies scattered and flew away, their lights flickering. I giggled, amazed.

"After all, we are human." He concluded. "And all humans have souls, right? Have a mind of their own."

I never denied anything of what Lietuva thought me. He is the wisest and most kind person in the world.

He was my world back then, and I am ever grateful, even as we are fighting along with somebody that might topple his power. But, if we win, he will come to our side and then we'll be a bigger family.

With that, you can see how powerful and fragile we are in the end: a glass box full of fireflies. They might escape and come in, and the box break, but there are degrees of how much we can take. The boxes themselves may not even be of glass, they could be polished crystal or diamonds.  
>And that's what makes each Lando Persono different: the ones stronger – diamond boxes – can get more hits and protect the frail ones. Sadly, I'm stuck in this last level, but I'm learning.<p>

The Saĝa Gvidilo, due to their experiences, obviously had 'harder' cases and could withstand more blows, which is why they could go ahead and gather more boxes with their fireflies. They had two options to choose from: they either collected the box and made it a subordinate, or they could break the box and take the fireflies for them. You could challenge them in any case, but of course, if you were too weak, probably it wasn't the wisest choice.

Lietuva didn't teach me this directly, and, as I said above, I had to learn it by experience. And I must say, experience hurts a lot.

It was some couple of decades from our first meeting when I began to hear rumors of the presence of another Saĝa Gvidilo crawling into our territories from the West. Thing is, though, many of my siblings knew who or what it was and many had even engaged fights against it.

They were profoundly preoccupied because they were losing really badly against that bigger and stronger force. I remember Lietuva's face becoming riddled with worry, and him spending most of the day in clothes fit for battle.

"I heard from Warmia," I began my tale on that day. It was sunny and warm, but the people around me were rushed. Almost preparing for disaster. I must have either been oblivious or stupid back then to not notice danger. "Nadrauen is fighting this army that is taking over everybody. I wanted to warn you."

"Naudrauen?" he frowned, looking behind me. "The boy at the south-east?" His green eyes filled with concern. "Is he fighting them alone? The Teutonic Knights?"

"Eh?"

He dragged me away from the site we were, far from the prying eyes and the ears of people. Lietuva began to talk to me hushed.

"You haven't heard of them? Thank the Gods. . ."  
>"Lietuva, tell me." I know I was stupid back then, but I had always wanted to know what was ahead. "Who are the Teutonic Knights?" Another question that rolled through my mind was '<em>why are you so worried about them?' <em>but I thought it was pointless to ask to a boy who seemed to squiggle at anything. "Why are they coming over here?"

My Saĝa Gvidilo friend looked side to side still concerned about people trying to see us. Then again, if they tried to listen to us, their heads might have gotten a headache: though we could understand our people's languages perfectly, we still used the general 'Nationfolk talk.' It felt more engaging, personal.

"I got a visit," he began, staring at my blue eyes. "From another Saĝa Gvidilo, one from much far away. Have you ever heard of Hungary?"

"Not really. . ." I could feel how little I had explored the world just now. There were more then? "Should I?"

"Well, he is a very strong warrior, not as tall as me, maybe. . ." and he used his hand to gesture his height. Apparently, he was almost as tall as Lietuva, but only up to where his nose started. He also explained to me how Hungary had this ponytail and brown hair. He was a proud soldier and despite his very young appearance, he had fought with yet _another_ older and more powerful Saĝa Gvidilo called 'Ottoman Empire.'

"He lives _much_ more to the south," he explained to me. Oh, so now everyone lived south here . . . splendid. "In a place that's never touched by snow. Nobody has seen his face, and has an army of ten thousand soldiers, if not more."

"T-Ten thousand?" I exclaimed, almost bumping my head on the wall from the surprise. "T-That's a lot! A-And this Hungary boy has fought him and _won_?"

Lietuva crossed his arms, thinking. "I don't think winning is the correct term, but 'containing' him: if Ottoman defeats him, he might take his people. Things can get really bad."

"W-What happens if a Nation loses against another?" I dared to ask.

He did not reply. He skipped my question.

"A-Anyways," he trembled a bit, thinking back on that other man. "T-The Teutonic Knights are not exactly a Nation but it has a strong army. The one representing them is akin to a bunch of fireflies without a box, but following a straight pattern. Right now, they are looking for one or many boxes to contain themselves in. They are gathering territory. Hungary has told me they are very strong."

"Is Lietuva going to be ok, then?" I now began to worry, though with him pacing like that how wouldn't I? I felt insignificant. "How can I help?"

"N-No! No! Don't . . .!" he cried out, staring at me like a mother who watched her son burn, die slowly. Tears wanted to come out. "You're not ready! You're still too small!"

"Naudrauen is fighting already!" I protested. "And my soldiers can fight back too!"

"But's too dangerous!" he begged. "You should stay away! You should probably just. . ."

He bit his lip; I stared at him defiant and pouty.

"We are meant to fight those who try to steal our people, right?" I crossed my arms. "I have been waiting to prove myself. When I found you, a Saĝa Gvidilo, I knew I could now become anything. And I have decided to become one myself: the strongest one there is!But how can I prove myself if I never fight?"

Lietuva stared down at the floor. It was like I had died right in there. A mournful stance, hands over each other, at the level of his stomach. I kept staring at him with my chest all puffed, using much of my breaths on keeping it like that.

". . . Do you. . ." he quietly began to speak at me, with a tone that called forth authority. He was my senior after all. ". . . know how to fight? To defend yourself?"

"Fight?" My lips twisted, chewing on the walls of my cheeks. "Of course I do! W-Well, I have never done it myself but, I know my people do! And they'll do all in their might to defend me! I know it!"

His stare was hidden under the shadows of his long brown hair.

"Do you know how to use a sword in combat?" he asked me once more in that voice.

"I know how they swing them, but I haven't used one myself. I was very little when they allowed me to see them practice. Eventually, they just pushed me away." My voice had disappointment.

I remember Lietuva going away. I didn't follow him; I was too confused for that.

That night, as I was eating, he told me that I should focus myself in being safe and to return to my lands as quickly as possible.

I wasn't too sure about that, and I didn't like the idea of retreating without even fighting, but the wary tone and the fact that he seemed very distant from me made me worried myself.

I couldn't sleep, and I dreamed about fighting this Teutonic Knight fellow: how I used a stick to beat him out and how my people cheered. I was chosen to fight and I was confident regarding my abilities and strength; my small kingdom had grown enough to sustain by itself, how couldn't I be able to fight?

Teutonic Knights: what a narcissistic name for a Lando-Persono without a territory of its own. How could he even be called a Saĝa Gvidilo? It just fueled my desire more.

It was my insomnia perhaps, or just the complete change of ambience that caught me off guard that next morning when Lietuva told me to pack my things for a trip in the forest.

When I followed him over, not knowing how to react, he pointed at a rack that held swords of various sizes. With a nudge of his head, I knew that I had to grab one.

"What's the point of all this?" I asked him as we walked through the woods. It was a chilly winter, and everything was covered in the downy snow. He made me ride a pretty mare that matched the scenario, pure white. On it, it held more equipment and some supplies.

"Well." He began quietly. I remember him staring behind several times, though I'm sure I wasn't supposed to notice. "You are very keen into wanting to defend your people, but you don't know even a bit of how to fight. I cannot tell you what you should or not do: after all, we are friends and I am not a figure you should follow. You have your own people, I have my own."

He tapped the side of the sword hilt with his shoulder, chuckling.

"I can't let you go there unprepared though: What kind of friend would I be?"

"Ah!" I exclaimed and couldn't contain myself, clapping my hands. The mare shook its head. "So that's why! We'll have a training camp! A-And you'll teach me? Will you Lietuva?"

He nodded and continued chuckling.

"That indeed I will. I'm sure that with your enthusiasm, you'll catch up really quickly."

I hugged the mare's neck, smiling widely.

"You're the best friend somebody could have, you know?" I remember myself giggling. "No! Better! We could be like brothers, right?"

Lietuva stopped on his tracks. For one moment, I thought I heard him sniffle.

"Brothers?"

"Yeah! I-I know we aren't brothers by blood and I don't know how that can even work between us Lando Persono. . ." I was sounded quite unsure myself. "But! I have noticed how humans take others as brothers even without being blood bonded. So we can do that, right? You can be the older brother and I'll learn from you! You'll be better than those I've met so far and made them so. Or did they make me?"

There was a slight moment of silence, in which the only sound was from the sudden clanking of the armors and swords and utensils we carried. I made the mare walk closer to him, leaning down to try to see his expression better.

"Lietuva? Do you want to be my brother?" I asked again, shy.

I heard his sniffling better this time. He slowly turned his head, small droplets around his eyes, and nodded.

"I would be honored if you did."

The first day of his training must be tied with the most tiring experience so far in my lifetime. Tiring _without_ being abused and pinned to the ground reputedly, that is.

I noticed just how, regardless of how meek and gentle he might look, he had a good ability with swordsmanship and self-defense.

I had trouble keeping up with him, despite my efforts and energy to follow up, and would end up sticking the sword – which ended up being a little too heavy for my stubby arms – on tree barks and eating snow very frequently. My arms were sore at night and he laughed at how cute I pouted.

"You're just getting started," he told me, as he approached to massage my upper arms. It felt really nice, I almost fell asleep. "You'll get used to it soon."

And I really hoped to: I think the horse laughed at me many times too.

Fine, forget about the 'pinned to the ground' statement above: I did get like that many times.

But there was always him, offering his hand after a session with that pleasant smile of his.  
>It was training heaven, and I felt proud when finally I could chop - not by accident though – a tree stump with my own sword. It was an accomplishment which we celebrated with a nice meal close to a firecamp. It only took me a month to do so.<p>

Regardless of this, I always noticed Lietuva looking behind him, as if something chased us.

Perhaps he had become paranoid with the whole Teutonic Knights thing and though that they could use some magic to get us quickly: he even made some small rituals in the mornings to survey whether somebody had used a spirit to track us or if we were on safe ground.

Also, in the nights before I could fall to sleep completely, I remember him making quiet prayers to his gods. Prayers towards his people, my own, and myself. What I liked about staring him during such times was the serenity he emanated, the glow of his lantern. It was soothing.

But more than such warmth, what really put me to sleep was this simple lullaby he sang to me, especially on the chillier nights.

I don't think I can ever remember the lyrics, and perhaps the song never had any, but the soft hushed voice of his, close to my ear, sent my core into sleep.

You could say I was a brat for thinking too much about defeating this great enemy he clearly was preparing me for, though there were questions that came into our rest times which probably were not the best to remind him.

Questions such as "When are we going back?" "How are we going to fight him? " "Are your people ok without you?" "Shouldn't we use these swords on them and practice fighting directily?" "Why doesn't my pee-pee get frozen when I go to paint the snow behind the tree? Water freezes, right? So why doesn't that too? Why is it even warm?"

He would just give me a smile and make something that distracted me from said inquiry.

When I remembered, it was too late for I was too sleepy to bother. I made mental notes to remind him and re-ask, but it always happened the same.

That last question, though, he just blinked and stared at me in shame. I can understand why he never wanted to answer that one.

As we entered the second month and the winter was more obvious, both in snow quantity and in temperature, I had the idea I could go out and defeat any dammed person that would cross my way.

I would wake up and grab my sword, slashing random tree branches and dry, bristly plants I could find, all while apishly claiming my territory.

"So this is what Saĝa Gvidilo feel like then?" I chuckled, standing on a rock, raising my sword. The world was at my command – or at _our_ command, since Lietuva was nice enough to teach me and deserved at least half of it – and I could do as I pleased.

And I guess Lietuva understood as well, since that particular day, he allowed me to do whatever I wanted with the sword, and imagine myself in campaigns and battles.

Oh, I would just love to see my sword in action with real people; it caused my heart to race.

"Now, Now Semba," he laughed, setting up the fire for the day, or at least he attempted to do so. With a thoughtful face, he stood up and stared at me in the distance. When I noticed, he called out to me from far.

"I need you to gather some food."

"We'll eat lizards tonight!" I raised my hands in triumph.

"No, no." he waved his hands at me "No lizards, let the pour creatures hibernate."

With a pondering face, he looked down, thinking on what to say next.

"Look, stay at the camp, alright? I'll go get some food and some more wood."

"But there's a lot of wood for us to burn around." I twirled in my place, arms wide. "The whole forest!"

"T-That's not the. . ." Maybe I scared him too much. "Listen, stay here with your sword, understand? Don't move. I'll be right back."

I made a salute with my hand.

"Yes sir!"

And he left.

I was staring at the few blocks of wood he had skillfully chopped and wondered whether I could help him with the wood gathering myself.

After all, all I needed was at least some ten or twenty pieces the size of my head. That should be easy enough.

So with my trusty sword, I went to fight the enemy of cold, slashing tree branches and gathering enough to form small piles. I wanted a very bright and warm pile I could probably sleep in, that is if fire wouldn't burn as it did.

I lost track of time soon, and the afternoon turned to dusk, and perhaps my amusement with the sword, the tree branches, and all, made me forget about just where Lietuva had gone.

Had he been eaten by a bear? Trapped by an evil spell? Got lost himself and couldn't return?

But he told me to wait for him, and he had supplies he could use meanwhile. Also, the fire I successfully had pulled could be a good enough signal for him to find me.

So I waited in my place, poking the fire brazes with my sword, quickly becoming bored.

And I fell asleep.

And I had the strangest of dreams which, considering what happened later, was probably a sign.

I dreamed of being in fire.

Fire surrounded me everywhere, like a circle, and the sky above me was bright red. Smoke made it hard for me to see and even to breathe.

I covered my nose and mouth with my hands and decided to face whatever figure could have done this whole thing.

I wasn't scared, I was all but scared. I was mostly defiant.

Under me, there was snow and it didn't melt.

Then, the fire parted in front of me, like a curtain, revealing a figure who seemed to wear a long mantle. It stretched a hand towards me but not as gently as Lietuva had done with me. It was possessive, cold, even with the flames that surrounded him.

"I will not let myself!" I barked at it, holding my sword stiffly on my hands, glaring. "I shall not let you pass! I will keep my people to myself! I will protect my soul! You will not take it away! Demon! Forego to your intents, for if you try, I promise you to take you down! I will show you my might, and you _will_ become dominated by me! I will rise! I will conquer, for I am . . . !"

I never got the chance to tell him who I was: I woke up as snow fell on my face.

I gasped for air, sat up, and noticed the fire pit was faintly alive.

On the side of me, though, I found a clothed bulk, which upon opening it, revealed to have both food and water in it, as well as some of that neatly cut firewood.

Lietuva had returned, but I couldn't see him anywhere.

I began to call out to him standing up, sword in hand.  
>I was about to shout his name, but I soon noticed the hooves of his mare, guiding me to a part of the forest we had passed some time ago as we first arrived.<p>

In the distance, I saw my friend comforting his horse, teary eyed, sword stashed on another bulk – his bulk.

I frowned, and for a moment, I followed as silently as possible. What was he attempting? Leaving me there in the forest alone to train? Even when he suggested for us to go? Maybe he was going to get better supplies? Then why not take me?

I fell on my face, and I made a grunting sound. I had slipped with a rock.

Lietuva gasped, turning at where I was, horrified, his green eyes wide, trembling.

We stared at each other for what seemed a long period, and just as I was slowly rising from my place, with a question in my mouth, he turned away, shutting his eyes and kicking at the horses's back.

"Atleisti. . ." I heard him whimper, never looking at me as the horse began to run.

I ran behind him, screaming his name, feeling the abandonment from before, from the time I first arrived to his land and I was confused and unable to understand anybody, unable to be helped by anybody.

Why in any god's name would he do that to me? I just couldn't get it.

I continued to run behind him, my legs burning even under the harsh cold of winter, and seeing Lietuva kicking into the horse, crying his heart out, doing all he could to leave me behind.

Fate allowed it to happen, for I'm sure I could have caught him somehow. We Lando Persono have greater stamina and superior abilities compared to humans, even in our raw state. But nothing could defeat the unseen rocks underneath my feet, dropping me once more into the cold downy snow, into the cruel reality that my Brother had abandoned me.

I cried bitterly that night, once I returned to camp.

The dream from earlier that day didn't help, replaying each time I went into slumber.

It took me, perhaps 3 days to cry myself to sleep and to ponder as to why Lietuva would do that to me.

I was angry, disappointed, confused, tired, scared, hungry (I ate most of the stash in my depressed state), and with nowhere to go but my land.

Resigned, I packed what little he left behind for me and began my long way home. At least he had left me the sword to defend myself against any predators and to get me some food fast.

By the time I approached the familiar river bed near my bonded place, I was completely famished and my legs felt like the same dry grass I used to cut back in training: that with a simple movement, they could break. So I was really relieved I had gotten back to it, slightly proud that I could do it on my own.

I began to run blindly, tossing away the burden I carried out with me to keep me alive somehow since I wasn't going to need it anyways. All I wanted was to visit my leader, tell him just how sorry I was for disappearing like that and sleep for a long, long time, with blankets covering my body, being treated and pet by my many surrogate mothers and caretakers.

But as I entered the gates – which were wide open and with signs of arrows and slashes – I began to realize just _what _might Lietuva had been trying to do by taking me far away from home to train, for such long period: when I arrived to the place I am bonded with, my sacred land, my home, I saw how it was being consumed by fire.

With my eyes wide, both in shock and fright, staring at some of my people mercilessly murdered by some soldiers, I stared at the black and white flag that would forever mark my existence.

The white banner with the black cross: the sign of the Teutonic Knights.

My box had been shattered without knowing, and my fireflies crushed with it.

That day, without knowing, I died.


	6. A Letter to my Readers

_To my readers:_

By now, you have noticed a great absence of this story, as it has happened many times with other stories I have under this username and are yet to conclude.

I came not to tell you that this is over, I came to tell you about an opportunity I have to offer to you.

Indeed, while _Sins of Our Brothers_ is a promising epic tale, I must say I feel guilty at reading the drafts I have for it while noticing and abandoning another story of the same line of canon I have created. Not only it is a shame, but to my consciousness it is disrespectful to me and to many others who began to read this and it never managed to fly off. Not only because I decided to switch topics as I deemed it more "interesting" than that of a Nation that has seen struggles by itself and deserves a place for himself.

The story I'm talking about is _Historia de Mexico_.

Yes, a Mexican choosing over Mexico's history, but it is not a mere coincidence too: for the past year or so I have locked myself reading many books about my beloved country – who now is under the possibilities of _another_ revolution is this man who-shall-not-be-said is placed in power regardless of how many people hate him and boo him – and decided to start off the "main" Project Hetalia canon with this man who's diary you are reading.

However, given the circumstances of how pitiful and sad it is that few know far more than what the SEP (Public Education Secretariat in Spanish, the institution that is supposed to grant us education but fails greatly at it. I personally blame Gordillo, but I digress, this is not a time to throw rightful rocks at politicians is it? ), how close we are to a possible change or revolt – thing which I have taken notes for the last part of this epic Project Hetalia series. Not giving spoilers here – and how the masses can be easily misled, I feel the obligation to not only continue this first story, but to reshape it in the way I've written _Sins_.

History is made by those who win, but what happens when true happenings are exchanged by fantasies in order to give out heroes, villains, victims, all whom were or were not that which is thought. It's this great danger that we face, added with the poor education system that is now prominent worldwide, that not only shape the nation's collective consciousness –talking about the people here, not about the _Lando-Persono_ - but it's thoughts, actions, pride. Remember that these are also part of what made those great empires fall. You shall also see how this is part of what will make _Sins_ ultimately so tragic. The sad or terrifying part is that this _is happening already_ and none seems to care or do anything about it.

It is not my intent to make the Project Hetalia something to be taken _too_ seriously or to have it as a replacement for actual historical research and take all faithfully. This is still a fantasy, a _fiction_ based on records of events that happened, are happening and _might_ happen – the _might_ part, you'll understand it later.

However I would indeed like it to be that small spark that helps you or those whom you read it to let go of that fear of knowing more. Ignorance is the seed of tyranny and the less you know, the less you can do to change your situation, change the world.

In the meantime, after this long and rather fancy letter of mine, I shall begin working on a rewriting of _Historia de Mexico_ with a slight warning: given that we are talking of Mexico, it shall be firstly published in _Spanish_. Sí, Español, de modo que me gustaría tener un editor que me ayudase en esta edición. Español Latino o de España no importa (de hecho, me encantaría que para el principio de esta historia, fuera Español de España por razones obvias.)

There shall be an English translation, of course, but all in due time.

Hopefully, it shall help learn more about my country, the situation we've been and even more. A small trip around the country, from Cancún to Tijuana.

Cheers! Once _Historia_ reaches the XX century, _Sins of Our Brothers_ will continue in queue.

Da Mangaka


	7. Nāunagimmuns

_Augustus 26, 1435_

Curses! I can't simply go to sleep. Not with that dream invading my mind again!

I thought that now that I was used to being under Gilbert's rule, I would have gotten rid of it! And yet, to my dismay, it came back for an unwanted encore yet again, and I'm kept awake thinking about my last entry.

The sun hasn't shown any signs of wanting to rise.

Should I even consider this another separate entry from last night?

I guess it's a fear I must still face, or it's an ominous prediction to something yet to happen, but I am not sure. After all, that conquest was almost two hundred years ago.

My choice of words in that last sentence may have seen exaggerated, even poetic, but it certainly was nothing like it when I had it in front of me.

It's not every day when somebody forces himself onto you, changing your perspective on life.

Not like that, at least.

Even as I close my eyes, trying to ignore the dream from before, I can see the flames, smell the smoke, hear the screams of my people being slain and the distant neigh of the horses that carried the warriors bent into destroying everything I held dear. Everything was unraveling too fast for my mind to process and I stood, my eyes wide and my hands clenching the sword's hilt tight.

The events went from happening too fast to becoming painfully slow.

I felt my own heart racing, trying to escape through my throat somehow while I couldn't move at all.

I was incapable of commanding my own legs to move, to shift their direction and run away elsewhere, anywhere, away from there.

I felt my eyes moist and my cheek being streaked by tears. A sudden feeling of hollowness began to fill my chest and made me ache, dizzy, as I felt how my world literately was turning over. The flask for my own fireflies was breaking and I felt as if the cracks were forming on my skin, tearing it away bit by bit, a different kind of burning invading my senses. A burn that did not feel physical, yet made my whole body pulse, the energy within me stirring.

"If you are going to fight," I remember telling myself while my arms regained some of their movement, though this movement was mere shaking and along their lengths my grip tightening on the sword . "This is the time."

"But. . .I'm scared, I'm hurting. . ." My thoughts quickly continued, as if in a reply to me. My mind backed this up, as I suddenly felt all too clearly the feeling - or lack of such - in my legs, my arms and even my own agitated chest. Regardless of my centenarian age and the knowledge that came along with that, my vulnerable state of mind pushed forth the primordial and child-like need of having somebody embracing me, protecting me, lifting me up and rocking me and assuring me that I would be fine. Just like that time I got lost on a stranger's land, which ended up being Lietuva's. Then, just as I began to recall him, my needs shifted towards one person: I needed Lietuva. He was stronger, wasn't he? He could fight against them, couldn't he? He was a Saĝa Gvidilo, wasn't he? He could punish them, right? At the end, my mind was full of turmoil and was even punishing me for my rash decision: 'why did you leave?' 'Why didn't you listen?' 'Why did you . . .?' I remember crouching down, crying as the searing sensation of my own flesh tore me, making the experience even less enjoyable. "Please! Not now!" I cried, my nose far too runny , sniveling. "I can't! I was wrong! I can't fight! Please forgive me! Lietuva!"

The screams of my people made it worse, same with the fire. That fire. . .

Mein Gott, I can hear them so close, so clearly.

"Please . . . somebody . . . help me!" I plead aloud. My knees shook and my feet stumbled forward. "Lietuva. . .anybody, please. . .make it stop. . . "

I rolled over and lay on the muddy ground with my back fully extended, looking up to the heavens and trembling. It was infinite, quiet, and peaceful, unlike anything that was happening down here on this place we call Earth. Its vastness gave me a sense of security and I wondered as I sobbed if I was heading back there.

Something told me that I might have come from far away in the sky and that once I had returned I won't know anything of my fate once this Earth is done with me. According to what Gilbert and his teachings tell me, all those who have a soul and did good deeds are bound to go to Heaven. Then again, since I wasn't christened, I am not sure if I'll end up in Purgatory instead, or worse, Hell. In either case, Heaven or Paradise had always been where I assumed I would go by default: after all, what's not good of protecting a group of people?

The cracks that I felt on my skin began to form in my mind. Suddenly I began to forget myself.

'_I_' was only my spirit and the sky above, the screaming and sounds of war slowly subduing in my mind. It was a very strange moment where I felt the most human, vulnerable but also so infinite. Even while men were slaughtered, women were captured and their children wailed for their lost mothers and parents, I tried to raise my hand as if to catch a falling star, in a daze which up to this day I cannot understand.

Before these events, I had never faced something this big, something this strong. I had always been proud about myself and what I was; yet when I was on the verge of danger, in that position I had always wanted to be in to test my might, I was reminded of what I still was: a scared pampered child, alone in the world.

But none of that mattered now, as the searing began to numb my whole being while my mind was being phased out from existence. All that existed was the black night, full of the fireflies that escaped my body. At least that's what I thought the stars above me were. An aura of warmth surrounded me, pulling something out of me and evaporating slowly. It didn't matter, it would soon end.

The soldiers that were not going around killing my people were looting and scouting the to find those who opposed the invasion: there were some who surrendered and were seemingly spared for now.

Most of them were holding their family close.

I closed my eyes.

* * *

><p>Gilbert shook me awake.<p>

I think he thought he was doing a great job with hiding his concern, although he later slapped my head when I asked him why he was staring at me funny.

Today's routine wasn't so fun and it was in this stupid irresponsive thing they call a crossbow.

The crossbow is meant to be an upgrade, or replacement considering the lack of archers I've seen in our ranks, to the bow and arrow. Both however rely on posture, aim and understanding weather effects like the flow of the wind and other things of the matter.

Unfortunately I can't comply with _neither_: I waste more arrows that our armory can produce and I end up being punished by becoming a target during exercises. The worst part is that these arrows thrown at me are most of the time lit, so there's that other factor of defending myself from being punctured and burnt.

Give me a sword instead, hold my stead so I can take it towards the sun. Notice how my armor begins to shine, how my cape dances with the wind and - if you dare cross my way - hear my sword sing it's ode.

For now, these exercises I'm dealing with will either have me shooting arrows or having them aimed at me for failing my targets thanks to this lack of sleep which isn't helping at all.

The most frustrating part is that I'm sure I won't be able to sleep tonight.

I hate remembering that part, I hate it! And as much as I want to skip it over, I can't just do so.

If I did, I would feel as if I were denying a part of my past, part of what I am and my soul and thus my own history, but it is just unholy having to relive it.

One never wants to relive parts of the past like that, because they are certain to drive you insane.

That kind of reminiscences are not the one I need right now, as I don't intend to die anytime soon. In fact, there are still questions in my head as to why I am here. One thing is for sure: I'm here for some reason.

It is almost past midnight again and I have some candles to keep myself up and writing.

I'll try to be brief by keeping my thoughts distant, focusing more in remembering and less rein reliving the event. It's scary what happens when your mind is able to remember events so clearly.

Even in my distant state of mind, I heard the sounds of metal jingling, soft scraping of pieces of armor, hard footsteps, and some chuckling. The Teutonic Knights.

I suppose they were rather surprised at finding a child with a sword, hardly moving, hardly alive, with his eyes focused on the vastness of the dark night. I do not remember their faces, or what they looked like, but I think saw white capes on some of them, swaying gently with the wind.

Angels? I think they were four- then Archangels, right?

One of them crouched next to my lying body, inspecting my state and barely touching me; when he did, he felt warm. I am not sure if he was gloved or had any other sort of covering on his hands, but such warmth was enough to pull my soul back into my body. A fragile and torn body, regardless of a lack in any visible wounds. I was young and inexperienced and thus the force of their invasion had taken a big toll on me.

They spoke to each other in a language I couldn't understand.

They must have noticed that I was alive and that perhaps there was something special about me, something interesting to report to their superiors.

My small form was lifted from the ground, with the sword sliding away from my chest and arm and giving a faint clank as it hit the ground.

My wishes to be held securely had come true in a bizarre way. Were they sparing me due to my young appearance? Due to the look in my eyes and the quiet whimpers I suddenly realized were coming from myself, telling them that I needed protection and that I was scared?

I think their heads were covered with helmets, although I can't exactly recall if they did wear them; I was too weak to move my head or focus my eyes. The background noises had either quieted down or I was still phased out from the whole experience.

The scraping of their feet and armor became a melody which soon lulled me back to sleep.

I wanted to somehow go back to focusing enough on the sky to go away again, though sadly I noticed I could no longer do that.

I tried to remember how long had it been since I arrived back to my lands, but my mind suddenly melted away and my body became limp. I was blissfully unaware and happy to just vanish.

So far it hinted towards being a peaceful transition; by the time when my thoughts were mostly quiet reassuring whispers to myself, I awoke to the smell of burning incense.

My body still felt limp and irresponsive, but my consciousness was slowly coming back to life. The first thing I saw was the top of the tent, covered by drapes and some leather. On the sides of the tent hung some sort of tapestry.

My senses were slowly reactivating; my skin was especially sensitive, and I could feel the texture of both my clothes and the soft silky pillows under me.

Behind me, the 4 knights that had carried me over were kneeling. Their armors shone with the faint light of the candles in the altar at the front of the tent, were a small white bulk moved below a carved figure.

The bulk's movements were sparse, and I could hear him muttering to the painful figure above him, the figure whose eyes were seeking redemption in Heave much like myself earlier.

It was such a strange yet alluring figure; both his hands and feet were bleeding, and he was bound to a wooden cross by what seems to be nails. He was clearly in pain, yet he sought hope from above.

My breathing became deep as my lungs filled themselves with air, emphasizing my existence on this Earth once more.

In all that silence, except for the murmurs from what seemed to be a bag of feathers or fur in the front, one of the knights began to speak. His voice was deep and commanding, yet it exhibited a sense of honor and respect. I guessed that this was a mobile altar for their gods and that they were probably about to offer me as a tribute. I couldn't hold myself and began to whimper, tears once again streaming down my cheeks.

They ignored me, keeping their position, the man with the deep voice apparently reporting about their mission and me.

Suddenly, there was a raspy yet squeaky reply at the front of the altar. My eyes darted quickly towards it, focusing.

It came from the bag of fur, which straightened up. The 'fur' was no such thing, revealing itself to be the hair of a rather small person. What I was curious about was the _color_ of both the hair and skin of the small person: as pale as snow. It was the first time in my life I had seen somebody with said traits.

From what I had heard before, people with such traits were very rare, if not impossible to find. People with that coloring were rumored to be powerful sorcerers or fortune tellers.

Even as I write this, that particularity is still very strange. There is a whole aura of mysticism around people like that; this mysticism was another thing that struck me that day.

He was, perhaps, not as tall as Lietuva, but as usual he seemed taller than me. Older too.

The 'bag' – which was actually his cape – swished slowly as he turned. He too wore armor, which had the insignia of a black cross on his chest. He had a dissatisfied, if not outright annoyed, look on his face. He began to spit his words out at the men, who merely flinched and quickly remained as still as they had been.

The boy with the white hair, red eyes, and armor slowly advanced towards them, never looking at me.

When he finally did appear to notice me, it was only to grunt and spit his words even more.

Eventually, with a swish of his hand he dismissed them, his face turning pouty.

I still had no idea of what was going on.

Our eyes locked onto each other and I whimpered again. He spat on the floor, grunting annoyed, before pulling out his sword and pointing at my nose with it.

He chuckled, grinning.

"Well, well. . ." By this point, I wasn't surprised that he turned to be a Saĝa Gvidilo. After all, what group of brave soldiers takes orders from a child if it's not a king? "If it isn't the twerp that rules these lands. I must tell you, I'm rather disappointed at how easy this was. Then again..." The end of the sword came close enough to poke my nose, making me squeak. My hands and feet curled closer to my chest. "As I see by your sorry and pathetic self, it is no wonder you couldn't take my might. For it is I, the Great Leader of the Teutonic Knights!"

That name rang a bell. Wasn't this the Nation-less group that attacked others?

And their leader was this twerp who wasn't older than Lietuva? What kind of joke was this?

My tears were no more, as my sadness became replaced with bitterness.

"Teutonic . . .?" I asked, trying to force my body to sit up. This bitterness began to fuel my dormant fighting spirit. "Aren't you the Saĝa Gvidilo without territory? The one stealing from others?"

"Stealing isn't the correct word, runt." He chuckled, swiping the edge of the sword on my left cheek, enough to make a small cut. I flinched, feeling my warm blood trickle down.

I frowned.

"Oh? And now you're frowning? What? You think I'm wrong?"

I puffed my chest. "It's bad! You're killing others that haven't grown strong enough to face you! That's not fair!"

"You say that this isn't fair?" The boy with the white hair began to laugh loudly, covering his eyes with his hand. I was about to reply to him; my ire had eaten all of my weakness and fright, which gave me the strength to rise up and make a fist. He, however, was quick enough to notice and kick me in the face, and pushed me onto the floor, keeping his foot on me. I grumbled and whined, trying to take it off, mainly to breathe. He however, continued his punishment by digging his sword into one of my shoulders, making me cry out in pain. "Boy, was your petty little sinner kingdom established yesterday? Maybe ten years ago? Fifty?" he scoffed. My eyes were outside the range of his boot and I could see his own red glaring at me coldly as I looked up at him. "Life isn't fair; etch it into your skull. This is a place where people fight to survive. At any time, some other bastard can come into your lands and take away what you fought or lived for. It is up to _you_ to fight back and defend it. To keep it safe. You are the shepherd for a civilization that depends on you, that lives for you. If I was _fair_, I wouldn't have pitied you and would have taken out your core, adding fuel to my power."

He kicked my ribs and pushed me away. His glare was piercing.

"I have no territory, in that you are correct." He continued. "But in which law does it say that I cannot take away yours, especially if it's full of sinners?"

My face still felt pressed on, with my nose shattered, bleeding. I trembled, sitting up once more.

"Sinners?"

"Ja. You and your people worship that which is foul," The boy's answer was quite simple.

"Foul? What is it so foul about thanking the Earth for her bountiful glory?"

Using my good arm, I crouched and slowly began to stand up straight. My hand quickly went to cover my bleeding shoulder.

"Why not say thank you to the Sun for shining? To the Moon for protecting us in the Night? The Soil for feeding us and the Water for refreshing us? Is that foul to you?"

The red eyed boy spat to the ground.

"You're doing it wrong."

"How come?"

"Do you even know where all those things come from?" He glanced at me, inquisitive.

"Um . . . well, each part has a protector God." I began explaining calmly. "It is to them that we pray to and thank."

"That is why!" He pointed at me, thankfully with a finger this time.

"Eh?" I flinched nonetheless.

"You are wrong! Worshiping gods of such sort is wrong and sinful. It is foul, for they did not create the things you are so 'thankful' about."

"What do you mean they are not?" I protested, trying not to move as much due to my wounds. It was also hard to raise my voice, having to use my mouth to breathe more than usual. "What about us? Isn't our existence proof that each element has its own protector? Just like our Gods protect the lands we inhabit, we protect the people that live there! That is our reason of being."

"Are you assuming that we are gods?" The statement seemed to be rather outrageous to him.

"Not a god but, perhaps, similar. . ."

"That is blasphemous! Don't you see? You are all wrong! That is why you must be cleansed! That is why I am here, you fool!"

"What? What does blasphemous mean, anyway? Why must you impose such ideals . . .?"

I didn't get to finish my phrase since his elbow slammed into my stomach.

I lost a great deal of air there, falling onto my knees again, coughing.

"You worship other gods other than the Lord_ and _you think of yourself as one, which is a complete blasphemy. You say that it is unfair to break laws you make up, that it is evil, and yet you violate the laws that were written even before time was created. Before we even existed. That in itself is punishable enough to get your territory handed to me." His cocky grin returned. I couldn't tell if he was enjoying this or mocking me.

"What do . . . you mean?" My voice was hoarse, trying to talk while breathing.

The boy crouched at my level, his eyes piercing into my being, looking for something.

His lips made a small smile.

"You have two options to choose from: You either swear to me loyalty and become converted under the laws of our Lord Jesus Christ, or you are to be killed along with the rest of the unfaithful pack of demon worshipers that are your people."

My body began to tremble again.

As Lietuva had told me before, if the container where the fireflies are breaks, it can be replaced with something; this would allow them to continue living. I was at the point of breaking, but most of my people should have survived the onslaught.

If I tried to fight back in my state, I would probably fade away. My people, those that composed part of my soul and whom I had sworn to protect with my life, would have their identity consumed by him, ultimately making them fade away too. Why waste it when they'd die away as well? He'd just gain my territory, but nothing of what made it special. There would be people, but they wouldn't be my people. It wouldn't be my land.

It'd be just an empty carcass of what used to be a lamp full of light.

I looked down in defeat. I wasn't sure about the whole 'convert to' part, but I wasn't going to let a bratty boy like him take away what I loved.

After some minutes of silence, and while the light on the tent dimmed as the candles began to burn out, my lips began to move.

". . . I-I swear. . ."

"Hmm? Yes?"

I raised my head up, my blue eyes trying to pierce his own. The words that came out from my mouth seemed to have a sort of magical ties. It echoed and came deep from my being.

I could feel the cracks and searing from before, but this time it felt as if they were closing, healing. I would be healed, my firefly lamp would be fully restored.

And yet, I knew, I could not be the same as before.

If I were a writer, I'd call this chapter Rebirth.

"By the Power that binds me to my people and that binds my heart, mind, and my soul to this bountiful Earth, I swear loyalty to you. I shall become an entity alongside you and serve you unhesitatingly. Were I to defy your laws, there will be a pact of war and bloodshed. Aware of the consequences of whether I decide to agree to this contract, I accept fully the responsibility of my acts. Your acts become my own."

A numb feeling invaded my head. I stared at him without blinking.

He smiled.

"State your name," he ordered.

"My name is Semba." My voice was monotone, yet solemn.

This ritual is a strange and yet innate binding which we all know how to do so _only_ in these cases. It comes not from our consciousness but from the collective that creates us. We call it _kerno_, a core.

The Core is what sets us apart from humans, what gives us our strength.

It is our Fireflies' hearts concentrated, with the added energy from the Earth. That is, at least, what I believe it is. Nobody knows for sure.

There are theories, but this isn't the place to discuss them.

"Semba." He began his part of the ceremony. I do remember seeing his eyes change from red to a shade of green. "I accept your offering. From this moment on, your kerno is mine. You and your people are mine. Your territory and its richness belong to me. You are to obey and serve me without question. Were any defiance or act against me be detected or presented, you are to be punished until you remember your position. I have the right to dissolve your entity, taking your life without any second thought. You are no longer a being of your own, but a subject under me."

He took my hands. He felt very hot.

"From now on, your name is Samland."

"My name is Samland."

"Your fate is sealed."

As clarity returned to my mind, I noticed how my wounds and my pains were gone and a refreshing feeling was washing over my body. I could feel his energy coursing through my own, even as he removed his hands, though deep down I knew I could not use it unless he allowed me to. I became a mere territory at the whims of a boy whom I barely knew.

I looked at him curiously, my confidence returning.

"You'll keep your end of the bargain, right?" I asked, trying not to sound nervous. "You'll protect my people now, right?"

He chuckled.

"_Your_ people? Must I remind you that they are mine now?" He crossed his arms. "And it will all depend if they follow the correct path."

"What do you mean?" I exclaimed. "I gave myself to you! I did so because you would spare my people!"

"Hah! Gave yourself to me? Spare your people?" He began to laugh at me again. "Your naïve nature certainly amuses me. You'll learn the rules soon enough. For now. . ."

He tugged my hair down, forcing me to bow. I whimpered, trying to resist.

"Bow to me! Obey me! You are all mine and you shall do as I say! Samland, your days as a kingdom are over, but your days as my servant are far from an end. I shall make it quite amusing for myself."

He laughed at his conquest, keeping my head down with his foot once more.

My days as a stool had just begun.


	8. Māise pirmas pratīnsenis

_Augustus 28, 1435_

If you ever complain about my brother's attitude, you should just shut up and be thankful he is not related to you.

Or for that matter, be thankful he doesn't spend more than a day with you.

You don't know him as I do, and it's taken me quite a long time to understand and even embrace his attitude.

Everything in life has a reason, although the reasoning they teach me at Sunday school seems too vague. Yet who am I to judge on God's will? Life itself is vague, which is why now I am fighting against my other siblings alongside the one who is the cause of their rebelliousness.

You cannot take life for granted... If you do, then you're in for a surprise.

Speaking of my brother Gilbert(I must make sure you know who am I talking about!); his attitude is a bit less wild compared to when I first met him, which is why you, again, shouldn't complain: he's much more reserved and impish, possible evidence that he has indeed grown up. Despite this, here I am- stuck being a child even after 500 years.

Once my land was completely seized, most of the constructions plummeted to the ground, burned or just defaced. Construction and rebuilding started up afterwards, restoring my strength.

The remains of my former self were to be erased as I had now given myself fully to him. He could change me as he saw fit.

Speaking of changes, despite the occasional twitching and nightmares, I wasn't treated badly. In fact, most of the time the servants under the Knights were dedicated to make me look more 'civilized'; my long amber hair was cut short to manageable lengths, barely touching my cheeks; my whole body was scrubbed and washed over and over until I began to hurl into the fragrant, bubbly water they washed me in; I was fed for as long as 2 years as a king (which is actually how I used to eat before); and I was allowed to sleep in a rather nice, fluffy pile of pillows.

My day began just as the sun was hottest, running to be fed and fawned over by the giggling maidens. I was rather astonished at how tall they were.

All of them regardless spoke a rather rough and thick language which made even the frailest of Fräulein become intimidating. This may be why they decided not to speak it around me when they fed me food, as I was easily startled.

I tried to see if any of them spoke my language, saying simple things like "Hello" and "It's a nice day" in Prussian... but to my disappointment, none of the ones close to me spoke it at all, much less had a grasp of it.

They just worked, giggled and ruffled my head, the men probably chuckling at how useless the attempt was. It got to the point where I looked at the ground while everyone around me spoke that strange and angry language.

Overall- despite the language barrier- things were ideal. Occasionally, my mind wondered just why it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be; after all, Gilbert had pretty much announced with glee that he would do everything in his power to make my life miserable. I didn't doubt this, as he definitively felt like a Sagva Gibdo- much to my dismay. However, the food and the commodities where too distracting and as such... I brushed it aside, and with it the relevancy of the fact that others around me probably share the same fate as I, if not worse.

Due to my death upon battlefield, I had reached a kind of heaven I was blissfully enjoying and hoped it could last forever.

Suddenly, Lietuva was attacked.

I learned about it out of sheer luck.

The constant talk about a 'Litauven' made me curious and after spying on one of their meetings in the middle of the night I was able to see some maps of the region hung on the wall.

A large circle surrounded the area that was above me, with some numbers and data I couldn't decipher.

It didn't take much to realize the worse might have happened: my friend could be seized.

While I had not been treated in an ill fashion, I was struck with a sudden terror, a deep panic settled in my bones. It made my body quiver, burn, and tremble. I began to whimper, barely making it back to my room; my mind receding to that moment which I thought would be my very last.

I didn't want Lietuva to share such a fate.

Lietuva…

A month from my discovery, unaware of my surroundings as I slept, I was suddenly kicked off my bulk of pillows.

The sun had barely risen, and I groaned and protested angrily over being awoken so harshly.

Before I could kick or punch the responsible person, I had the blade of a sword in the crook of my neck.

Startled, I looked up and found myself face to face with that albino again; The Teutonic Knight in person. He had grown just a bit, proof of his accumulating power.

"Wake up, you swine." His eyes were as piercing as ever; His armor looked tattered; the white tunic over his chestguard had some cuts, showing patches of his hardened skin. "It is time for you to be useful."

I yawned, pushing the sword carefully away. I wasn't in the mood for anything, not even to be scared.

Not yet.

"But it's too early." I said between my yawns.

The expected reply came too soon, with him grabbing my head and lifting me up. I calculate he measured around two and a half elle. Compared to my one and three quarter elle, he was huge.

I didn't give him ground to intimidate me, puffing my cheeks and regarding him with a defiant expression. I suppose he didn't like that either, because he then slammed me to the ground and placed his foot on my head. Soon, I began to protest in muffled gasps, wiggling my limbs in the air.

"It was a mistake leaving you unattended." His voice didn't seem angry at all, then again, he did press further onto my head, making it hard for me to breathe "It seems you have forgotten your place in this land."

Of course, I couldn't reply. He removed his foot and used it to turn me over. I had tears in my eyes and sported a furious glare. He scoffed.

"Samland, get me something to eat."

"But I don't know how to. . ."

His foot went back onto my body, squishing my stomach. I instinctively moved my hands to try to get it off.

"Samland," he repeated, this time being emphatic, "get me something to eat, now. Do you comprehend dummkopf?"

"I . . . don't. . ."

I felt my spine being pushed onto the floor with how much pressure he was putting on my stomach. I could barely breathe.

"I didn't ask you if you knew how to cook, did I?" At least he understood where I was going at. His gaze was devoid of emotion. I tried to look away from his eyes but it was hard to, especially when he could clearly stomp me into the ground. "I asked you to get me something to eat. Now, do it."

Just before I lost last night's dinner, he removed his foot. I flinched momentarily before he kicked my sides, pushing me away.

As I was got up, I saw him leave... without ever telling me where he was going to eat.

The battle against Lietuva was a difficult trial, and it was the main purpose of his whole trip. The Grand Duchy of Lithuania was a powerful Nation on its own, its only mistake being their pagan tributes and worship. My "brother's" mission on these lands was mainly to convert and show the truth of their religion – while gaining some power for himself. They were bringing light, justice and the real God, the battles were worthwhile in their eyes.

I have nothing to say about it yet...

Lietuva was unlike me of course; his army was prepared, organized and his influence was vast. I am not sure if he had grown as fast as my conqueror since we last departed, or if they were just the same age ...but since Lietuva had territories, he looked older as a result.

I still don't understand how the mechanics of growing up work for beings like us, but one thing is for sure; the more influence and power you have, the bigger and more "mature" you get. I might be more than 500 years old, but my level of influence was miniscule. I suppose that there'll be a time when Lando-Persono get to grow even faster as they use easier and quicker ways to learn about each other. Who knows? Maybe that will be a catalyst for more of us to come to life.

People live, then they die.

I suppose that also applies to us.

It is hard for our kind to die, which may also explain why there are so few of us compared to the thousands of humans I've seen so far.

Perhaps the world is bigger than I imagined. There may be more of us than I ever thought possible.

I went downstairs to get something to eat for Gilbert and was soon in panic mode when I couldn't get the maids and servants to understand why I was climbing onto the counter and tables.

They made it very difficult to even try to get some supplies, let alone move as I wanted.

The maids shooed me like some stray cat looking for a midnight dinner and the servants would sometimes get at my level, grab me from my shoulders and shake me while telling me – who knows what – in a very angry manner to stop that.

I felt impotent and useless. Nobody could understand me... nobody could help me or care for me.

I fell on my buttocks and began to cry. Unaware of my surroundings, my crying was in fact digging like a sharp keen into their skulls and it stopped the whole kitchen short. I heard cutlery clanking, plates breaking, people moaning and crying in pain.

I held my eyes shut tight while I continued with my pitiful display, only to feel somebody's boot kicking the side of my head.

I was thrown not too far from my position; hitting the back of my head with one of the legs of the table they used to prepare the food. I felt some blood trickling close to my right ear, pain came shortly after.

When I looked at the angry albino – with a piercing stare that not only made me squeak, but made most of the staff back off to a corner – I tried to scramble back. He grabbed me by my left hand and began squeezing.

I started trembling in fear, unable to breathe properly.

"My food, Samland. Where is it?" He spoke in our tongue. I felt my heart skip a beat. "I don't see any food in my plate. Where is my food?"

A lady from the staff, tall and much older than the rest of the maids, was about to approach me when Gilbert glared at her. She decided to quiet down and back away. Her face of worry only made me shake more and more.

"I-I'm...s-sorry..." I blinked away heavy tears. He looked at me with spite, an expression that he has now that when I see it, I know I've done something wrong. It affects me even today.

"What reason could you possibly have for you to not bring my food?" He twisted my head towards a stove. "See there? That's some potato stew. It is ready to eat."

He then grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me up, enough to see the contents on the table. Cut vegetables and skinned poultry were being prepared on there, though it had been misplaced when they started to cringe at my crying.

"See that? That's also food that they were making. Your mission was as simple as asking if my food was ready." He sat me on the table, keeping his grip on the sides of my shoulders. "Now then, little rat, where is my food?"

I peered back as much as I could, staring at the awaiting staff. Gilbert grabbed hold of my chin and turned me face him.

"Why am I still hungry?"

"B-B...t-they...they wouldn't listen!" I began to cry again, pointing at them. I felt so ashamed at myself, at the fact that I couldn't get them to do such a simple request. I moved my hands to my eyes, rubbing them. Gilbert took them away; his face looked more serene now.

This gave me some confidence. Perhaps he understood my dilemma.

He understood that I couldn't understand. He must know that they were being mean by not listening to me or allowing me to do things as I wanted.

I was a Lando-Persono, a being above them despite being a conquered land.

I had the rights to move as I wished.

"They wouldn't?" Gilbert glanced at the staff briefly, using his hands to clear my tears. "Is that so? Why would they do such thing?"

"T-they," I sniveled, brushing my right eye. "t-they wouldn't understand me. I told them to give me your food but they wouldn't say anything to me. They'd just shove me away."

"They'd shove you? Is that so? They'd shove you away despite you asking for my food?" There was something about his tone of voice that sounded like he was mocking me, but back then I really thought he was getting upset about the situation. "How dare they? They are instructed to obey my commands, even if they are relayed." He held me by the shoulders gently, staring me directly to my eyes. "I will make sure they receive their appropriate punishment. For now, it is time for us to get some grub."

My face beamed, and I found myself clapping at the assertion.

I began to laugh mischievously, staring at the confused staff behind me.

It was going to be very fun to observe how they were dealt with – I thought – considering they were very rude and impolite.

Gilbert carried me on his arms and set me down on the other side of the table. I sat there and began to kick my legs.

"Well then," he glanced at me, smiling. "Go ahead, ask them. I'm pretty sure they'll listen."

With all that boost of confidence, I was certain that his words were true. After all, they all stared at me, waiting for something to happen.

I grinned at them and puffed my chest, speaking to them as the low servants they were.

"Preipīdaiti īdei!"

The staff looked at me in a puzzled manner.

I began to repeat myself again.

"Preipīdaiti īdei! Preipīdaiti īdei!"

They all had blank stares.

I felt stupid and impotent again.

Gilbert moved to face me, glancing down at me.

"What is that you are saying?" He asked in a cool tone.

"I-I'm," I was nervous again. "I-I'm asking them to bring us food! They aren't doing anything! Why aren't they doing anything?"

"That is strange indeed. . ." He placed a hand over my chest. "I wonder if it's due to the fact that you are still talking that language I had explicitly told them not to allow usage of."

"E-eh?"

Before I could react, my head slammed against another object. This time, it was the table itself.

Gilbert held me tightly by the neck, tight enough to let me breath but not enough to let me go. I was wiggling desperately, trying to get out of his grasp.

I noticed by the corner of my eye how he grabbed one of those butcher knives the cooks were using to break up the skinned chicken. Terror began to fill my body.

"N-Ni. . .n-ni! NI!" I pleaded, my thick tears flowing again.

"You keep using that language. Do we speak that low life stain of a tongue here? No! Consider this a new lesson for you... You shall have to learn from scratch. Open your mouth!"

Needless to say, I couldn't speak even a single word after that incident for at least 2 months.

Thus began the long and eroding torture which was learning miksiskan, or as they call it around here, Deutch.

You cannot take your language for granted... If you do, then you might lose your tongue.

Count yourself lucky.


End file.
